


cannot sleep for dreaming

by pixiepuff (colourmecrunchy)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Emotional, Intense, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourmecrunchy/pseuds/pixiepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to hold, and touch, and feel, he needs to know if the feeling of being too big for your own skin turns to content, if the thrumming of nerves dissolves into gentle purring, or if it only makes it worse, a crazed delirium of <em>too much</em>, an insatiable urge to never let go. He hopes he can have it, he hopes because the looks and fleeting touches he gets back make the small hairs on his neck rise up in a prickling sensation; the way his name rolls off of Bradley's lips in a casual conversation with others makes something heat up low in his stomach and suddenly he needs everybody <em>out</em>, out right <em>now</em>, they need to <em>go</em>- /.../</p>
            </blockquote>





	cannot sleep for dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: title is borrowed from David Ford's I'm alright now lyrics
> 
> a/n: i have a ton of unpublished brolin fics of various lengths and genres and would gladly post them if this one seems to be to the general liking :)

When Colin hears the door of his apartment closing shut, he knows not everybody has left. He knows. Not only can he _feel_ the presence, he sort of, in some weird, deconstructive way, dreads it with goosebumps of sweet anticipation as well. He can't explain it, as much as he'd like - he _wanted_ this, he wanted everyone else out and Bradley staying behind; he hoped he would, because while he didn't indicate for this with words of any kind, he's achingly aware of how his body was acting of its own accord all night. And it doesn't really trouble him, this weird, tingling sensation and the slow burn that's spreading out underneath his skin. He's kind of used to it by now and it's a formidable presence but not something he'd trade for the previous state of lax days and unstirred mind. He's not in control of it, and for once he's glad he's letting it loose, his body doing what it wants because he can't hold it in; not anymore. He feels like an intruder in his own body all night, or maybe not like he has no right to be there, because he does, but maybe more like an onlooker, a casual observer who watches Colin make subtle moves, so subtle he's not sure they are even _there_ , but the soft, unguarded looks, and then not so soft, blazing eyes or heavy lidded glances are not something he could miss, or brush off, or even stop doing. He's not in control, remember? He gasps when he watches his hands brush against Bradley's a couple of times. He gasps when Bradley looks back, unsurprised but intrigued, thoughtful and hungry and it only makes the small quivers under his skin spread out in faster waves. He wants it, _so_ badly, but he doesn't know how to ask, and he doesn't know where the line is. He's not sure he's _allowed_ to have it, this promise of something real, and scary, and so tangible he can almost taste it on his tongue when Bradley looks at him across the room and holds his gaze with some kind of of a hypnotic stare.

He wants to hold, and touch, and feel, he needs to know if the feeling of being too big for your own skin turns to content, if the thrumming of nerves dissolves into gentle purring, or if it only makes it worse, a crazed delirium of _too much_ , an insatiable urge to never let go. He hopes he can have it, he hopes because the looks and fleeting touches he gets back make the small hairs on his neck rise up in a prickling sensation; the way his name rolls off of Bradley's lips in a casual conversation with others makes something heat up low in his stomach and suddenly he needs everybody _out_ , out right _now_ , they need to _go_ because he's pretty certain he can't take any more of this and you see, he doesn't know how to even begin, so it's best there are no witnesses whatsoever -

 

Bradley catches his eyes again across the room of chatting people, and when Colin looks on, helplessly, cheeks burning and eyes glassy, feeling open raw and only wanting to wrap himself in the heat that is Bradley's stare, Bradley seems to _get_ it. He gets the _urge_ , and the _now_ , the _please do something_ because Colin can't, he's hopelessly aching with compulsion he feels towards the man across the room and then Bradley is practically shoveling others out of his way when he heads for Colin at the kitchen counter. He stops one pace short before he negates the concept of a personal space, his eyes dark and searching, and then understanding, and Colin gasps again because if he's looking at Bradley even half as hungry, and craving as the stare is that's focused back on him, then he's not sure how Bradley's still even thinking straight.

 

"Bradley- "

 

He knows it's more of a moan than anything else, and he feels slightly dazed and subdued, the closeness moving towards the too much for this, which is nothing _specific_ , because the _un_ specific is suddenly killing him, he can't not know anymore, he can't go on without experiencing what's it like, he feels feverish and unable to breathe out that haunting name in any other way.

At the sound of his voice Bradley's eyes close, and he swallows visibly, a slight murmur falling from his lips.

 

"Wait _right_ here."

 

Colin nods, the heat from his belly shooting in all directions through his limbs as he clutches at the counter for some stability, and finding none; he watches through a haze how Bradley talks to Eoin, and he briefly wonders what he's told him because suddenly people are leaving, and he's pretty sure he catches, in between the waves, that he should lie down, and drink some water, and to sleep it off, that he'll be better in the morning, and is left pondering if he actually looks as flushed, and out of sorts as he feels, if this was the excuse to make everyone leave because it's the most plausible one, and after he's done thinking about it, he decides he actually really doesn't care right now.

 

Bradley reappears, then, focus on his features written so distinctly Colin exhales and lets himself be backed against a tiled wall. There's still a breath of air between them, but not more than that, as Bradley's nose nudges his. It already feels like a step in the right direction, but Colin wonders how the hell can he know that, because in all honesty it feels like he's crossing a river of lava over a narrow, half-burned up rope, and he's never been one for elegant balance - and yet it feels like there's nothing more thrilling than playing with fire. He realizes he's closed his eyes at the sensation of such a small stretch of skin of their bodies touching, and blinks into awareness.

 

He trembles slightly, he can feel it, and he's pretty sure Bradley can, too, and it's the enthralling, anticipated dread he's been longing for that's increasing ten fold inside him. He doesn't know how to take, he feels like lunging forward is inadequate and doesn't represent the ache and the need he feels for this man, so he sags against the wall, and waits, and is dizzy, dizzy with looking straight ahead into big, blue eyes. He hopes Bradley knows it's all his for the taking, gladly and willingly so, as long as he decides to do it. He waits for the claim, and whimpers, when the ghost of Bradley's breath against his face delivers the words,

 

"I'm going to kiss you now."

 

It's a warm press of lips, and then entangled tongues, sharing sweet breath and gasps as it goes on and on, and Colin knows he's positively shivering at the solid body against his own. He can't think, not anymore, not when he's buzzing on the inside with a feeling of accomplishment, knowing Bradley understood all the signals and signs, and wants this too, and is now _taking_ it, _leading_ them, because apart from kissing back with all the fervor that seems to unfurl inside him like a never-ending renewable source of appetite, Colin is still at a loss. He's becoming lost, slipping away in this kiss that has probably overshadowed and dwarfed all other kisses he's been given or has taken or been involved in, and clutches at Bradley's shoulders.

 

It's a slide of warm fingers on his spine, below his shirt from his neck to the small of his back that surprisingly steadies him, brings him back enough to nod when Bradley all but growls into his mouth, _I want you uncovered_ , and then he's being pulled down the hallway, and maybe it shouldn't be so hot, and arousing, but it is, as he realizes Bradley knows exactly where the bedroom is, and that the door is slightly off its hinges and needs to be pushed in a special way to be opened, and then they're enveloped by near darkness only moments later, only a sliver of orange light coming in from below the closed door.

He feels as if his body is being worshiped as every article of clothing is slid off with the barest of touches with the utmost care, such an odd contrast to the building up need inside, the frantic heart beating and demanding mouth; it's almost as if he's imagining it but he knows he isn't because the kisses to his mouth never stop, and he's already half way to feeling being devoured with only Bradley's fingertips trailing a constant path up his ribs and down to his hip as he pulls them close, lying on their sides, facing each other.

 

They're close but not close enough and Colin moans his wish and request and command all in one, slides his own hands up Bradley's chest because yes, this is what he needed, this is the answer to his internal burning up, the crossfire of feelings inside, the doubts and denials and _realizations_ , as of late, that the constant crave will not go away by being ignored, but by satisfying it.

Now, on the brink of irreversible, however, he's not sure that sating this kind of need would douse the flames, and put out the fire, because he feels it everywhere, it's in his head as much as it is in his limbs, and when suddenly their flush, hard cocks brush together between them, he wails, throwing his head back. Bradley murmurs something reassuring, something sweet that sounds as if he's placating them both as his hand cradles the back of Colin's head and brings him forward for a kiss. When Colin stops shuddering as if he's out of control, the hand from his hair slips down the curve of his back and settles, fingers splayed across his ass and igniting the skin underneath, the push on his flesh strong and deliberate as it brings their bodies tightly together, no air left between.

 

Colin opens his eyes but he doesn't see anymore; the feather-light touches are replaced with scorching skin on skin, lightly scratchy where body hair meet, and silky smooth everywhere else, but kindling, torching, _incinerating_ as they move and roll and clutch together. He's oddly out of sorts, and indescribably aware - not all of his senses seem to be working, but the sense of _feel_ is overstimulated, over-sensitive, there's intimacy in the air he hasn't been privy to so far. He's enveloped and yet on display, he wants to shy away from the insistent roll of hips against his own and at the same time he pushes back with devoutness that blinds him. He's not used to this kind of love making, it's so _different_ , but it's exactly what he wanted and he can't deny a thing as he moans and gasps and escaped breaths of _more_ and _yes_ and _Bradley_ and _this_ fall from his lips. He shudders when Bradley sneaks a hands between them and trails it down his stomach, teasing from the base to the tip of his cock as if he doesn't even know he's doing it until Colin bucks his hips again, trying to bring him closer. He has no idea how long this blaze of swirling touches and sensations will last because he's shivering from too much from the very beginning, he has no notion of time and anticipation of an orgasm because he can't compartmentalize this intensity with which his body is responding. Bradley is holding his hip close again, an erratic cant of hips and open-mouthed kisses that form the echo to Colin's words, but Bradley's words all boil down to one sole chant of _mine_ and Colin thinks, blissfully and dazedly, that he might just go and let Bradley have him forever if this is how it will be between them.

He's aching, and twitching, and moaning softly as Bradley's hand starts massaging circles on his ass, the act so unknown and private, so cautious and fervent that Colin throws the _might_ from earlier away and replaces it with _definitely_. Bradley's other hands slips below Colin's neck and brings his mouth even closer, holding him in place by the shoulder as he continues kissing him.

 

The fingers that threaten to be Colin's demise start a new pattern, a maddening continuation of short strokes just above his ass, every couple of seconds touching the beginning of the cleft and it's this that adds to the already increasingly uneven rhythm of their thrusts. He keens, low in his throat and into Bradley's mouth as Bradley dips his fingers between his cheeks and just leaves them there, unmoving and strangely possessive as he pants, a hint of smarm and _awe_ in his voice,

 

"You _like_ that, don't you?"

 

Colin groans his assent and pushes into him and then back at the fingers, a minute stutter of hips as Bradley presses fingers deeper, rubbing the finger pads all over Colin's tight ring of sensitive muscle. It's suddenly too much, not unlike the feeling of burning from within that's been escalating all evening, the overwhelming feeling of being consumed, the tingle all over his body just below the surface as he feels being pulled under, and as Bradley pushes only the tip of one finger inside, Colin comes with a shout, his whole body pulsing and spasming in the small space between the fingers and Bradley's cock and they're both pushing at him at once, and if his vision wasn't really working before, it's going out with dancing white spots now as Colin slumps into Bradley's body and holds on before he spirals out of reach, before it's too late and nothing can bring him back, not even Bradley's touch.

 

He's coaxed into awareness with soft kisses and warm, slow strokes of palms on his skin wherever Bradley can reach and he takes stock, observes yet again the state he's in. The warm, sated feeling seeps all the way down into his bones, but the demand for a repeat performance, for a repeat _full-on full stop_ is still coiling tight in his stomach. It's settled, now, dimmed and not melting him from within, but the contentedness rolling inside is splashing over the edge already and it requires _clarification_.

 

Clarification comes, and it breaks a dam of every pent up nerve and emotion and thought inside.

It comes in a form of kisses, freely given and returned, it comes in a form of content sighs and needy gasps that unravel him to the core; later still, it comes in a form of stolen glances and secretive touches and the promise of more, more, and _everything_ one day, and when that day comes, clarification comes in the form of two white-gold bands, tying and tangling them _un_ separate for all time.


End file.
